


Negotiations

by ava_jamison



Series: Steadfast [4]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Superman (Comics), Superman - All Media Types, Superman/Batman (Comics), World's Finest (Comics)
Genre: M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-20 21:00:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12441723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ava_jamison/pseuds/ava_jamison
Summary: 400 Word Drabble





	Negotiations

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Mithen's World's Finest Shuffle Fic Challenge, several years ago. Just now posting it on AO3. Feedback appreciated. :)

Clark tangles his fingers in silky black hair, trying to hold back, but Bruce’s mouth, the sharp hungry flicker of his eyes, half-open, watching him—Bruce on his knees, sucking him—God, he can’t last long like this. 

Why’d he let—

Bruce’s hands, gripping his thighs, dragging him closer to pull him in, take more. Then reaching. Reaching for his hand—Clark’s hand, and pushing, insistent. Clark knows what he wants, doesn’t want to give in, take. His control—he barely has it now. 

Bruce wants him to set the pace, the rhythm. Bruce wants him to fuck his face, and it goes against everything—it’s bad enough that Bruce is on his knees—on the floor, on his knees in front of him. He doesn’t want to use him like that, doesn’t want to let go and drive into the wet, warm mouth but Bruce just wraps his hand around his wrist, pulls it to cup the back of his skull, squeezes, and Clark gives in, just for one thrust—just one.

Bruce’s eyes close and he moans. The sound reverberates from somewhere deep inside Bruce and into Clark, sending a curling ribbon of lust along his spine, tendrils uncoiling everywhere and he can’t help himself. He does it again, and Bruce just moans louder. Moans around the flesh in his mouth and it’s the hottest thing he’s ever—

Clark forces himself to stop. He’s better than this. He doesn’t—he’s never—he makes love, not this. He does… whatever this thing is between them now. And whatever it is—he doesn’t take, use. Clark drops his hands to his sides.

Bruce pulls off. Sits back on his haunches, looking up, mouth slick, red and swollen. 

He reaches for Clark’s right hand. Opens his clenched fist. Presses his lips to the half-moon fingernail indentations.

Clark doesn’t speak, can’t trust his voice. 

Lifting his palm to his cheek, stubble rasping against it, Bruce waits. 

“Can’t—” Clark takes a deep, wavering breath. “Use you, Bruce. I don’t want to use y—”

Bruce’s eyes sparkle. “You’re making me do all the work, Clark.” His eyebrow twitches up just a fraction. “Always knew you Supers were lazy.” He leans forward, his breath a whisper against Clark’s thigh. “Take, Clark. Take my mouth.”

When Bruce moves Clark’s hand to cradle the nape of his neck, Clark shivers. And this time, gives in.


End file.
